Bleached Lightning
by Lyzzybelle
Summary: "You're a Fake and a Phony and I wish I never laid eyes on you!" She, of course, disregarded the fact that she hadn't exactly been truthful with him that summer either. You think you know this story? Think again people.


**Synopsis**: _ "You're a __Fake__ and a __Phony__ and I wish I never laid eyes on you!" _ She, of course, disregarded the fact that she hadn't exactly been truthful with him that summer either.

You think you know this story? Think again people. Starring Sandra Dee as Buffy; Danny Zuko as William/Spike; Kinecki as Xander ; Frenchy as Willow; Doobie as Oz; Patti Simcox as Drusilla and Rizzo (Betty) as Cordelia Chase; Craterface as Warren…You get the picture

**Rating**: trying to keep a "T" rating… Let me know if it steps over a line though…after all, it is Spuffy! There is a *slight* chance this could be upgraded in the future.

**A/N**: An idea I just couldn't get out of my head, so I finally wrote it down…might just be a REALLY long one-shot. I really shouldn't be writing YAF but I hope y'all like it and don't think it is a waste of time.

**Disclaimer**: Joss is Boss and I totally stole the main idea of this fic from Grease the Movie…not a song fic though. Brief excerpt written in this chapter is taken from Ghost of the Robot's song "Dangerous" and sung by James Marsters…find it on ITunes. I did change a few of the words from the song to fit the fic.

**Warning**: Not as fluffy as it seems

Also- looking for a beta for this, let me know if you are interested

**BLEACHED LIGHTENING**

**Part One: Love is a many splendored thing (June to August)**

After just a few days, the salty fragrance of the Pacific already seemed as familiar and comforting to Buffy as Mr. Gordo, her stuffed pig that she had carted everywhere she went since he was gifted to her by her Grandmother on her fifth birthday.

It was early morning; the sun inched up over the horizon as she searched for a good spot to lay her towel. She scanned the sandy beach and she frowned when she spied an abandoned towel nearby, left behind, she imagined, by some harried mother of six the day before (a very crowded Sunday, she remembered). Gratefully, she released her bundles: a large canvas tote, filled with books, IPod, towel, change of clothes along with other useful amenities such as sunscreen, water and snacks; a large beach umbrella and a folded canvas chair.

It took a few moments to get her belongings sorted but she soon had her chair positioned to face the glorious sunrise and flanked by her umbrella, anchored in the sand and opened to provide some relief from the heat as the day progressed. Next, she rummaged in her tote for her towel.

The towel snapped smartly when she flicked her wrists before coming to rest on the sand. Today, she had found a good spot; close enough to the snack bar but out of the line of traffic that was sure to start up later that morning. She placed the sunscreen on the towel and settled in her chair. One hand reached into the nearby tote and she pulled a medium sized sketch book and a pencil. She planned to use the early hours of the morning to sketch and work on her tan for the rest of the day.

After the confinement of the last few months, she was determined to spend as much of her summer out of doors and, as long as she was home by sunset, she _finally_ had the freedom to do as she wished ("_Within limits, Buffy"_ her mother had warned her).

Long moments passed while she stared into the horizon, reveled in the sounds of the water as it slapped against the shoreline and felt peace by simply being _away._ Away from the bitter arguments of her parents, the angry, whispered words they thought she didn't hear and the guilt she felt because she knew it was her fault.

She was determined to enjoy the summer near the beach before she, her sister and parents had to return to Texas –back to her small hometown and the knowing _looks_.

The shrill squawk from a seagull overhead brought her out of her reverie and she opened the sketch book. Soon, it all fell away – the birds and the surf - when she became immersed in the swirled hues of the sunrise. She hardly looked down as her pencil expertly scratched upon the paper in her lap.

She had already drawn an outline of the figure that swam across the water in front of her before she registered that it was an actual person. Strong, steady strokes broke the water as the figure moved from her peripheral toward the center view, head turned from the water in a rhythm as reliable as the beat from a metronome. Surprised, she looked down at her paper at the outline of the form she had already sketched.

Abruptly, the figure stopped, back toward her, and faced the sunrise while the arms steadily treaded water. Buffy was hardly aware of her hands as they flipped to a fresh page and her pencil rapidly sketched the form. The body bobbed gently in the water then dived underneath, hidden from her view. Her pencil paused as she unconsciously counted beats off in her head. When the number reached 110, she stood with concern only to sink with relief back into her chair when the figure appeared once again and stood. The water came to his mid chest and he waded toward her part of the shore.

Gradually, his body was revealed and her fingers itched to etch his form onto her paper. Embarrassed, she held her breath as he walked out of the water and toward the discarded towel she had noticed earlier. As unobtrusively as possible, she closed her sketchbook and slid it back into her tote. She pulled out her worn copy of _The Agony and The Ecstasy,_ her IPod, placed the ear buds in her ears and leaned back in the chair, fully prepared to ignore any attempts he would make toward her to gain her attention.

She certainly did _not_ take a mental photograph and commit the sculpted abs, lean muscles and the piercing blue eyes to her memory.

~Spuffy~

Buffy was aware of her appeal to boys her age. There was no conceit in her awareness, it was a fact; once she had turned thirteen, boys had flocked to her like bees to honey.

Since she had arrived in the beach town of Sunnydale California earlier that week, she had already suffered the advances of more than a few teenaged boys (and a few College boys as well), the most tenacious was a Sophomore Frat boy from a nearby college who went by the name of Riley Finn.

Apparently, the word "no" was not in his limited vocabulary, hence Buffy's early morning appearance at the beach. Riley had dropped a few hints about the summer parties he attended and boasted that he never arose earlier than noon during the summer. Buffy had filed away that useful nugget of information, although not in the way Riley had intended.

As he emerged from the water, the boy - probably close to her own age of seventeen- did not spare her more than a single, disgruntled glance. He shook sand from his towel, wrapped draped it across the back of his neck, with either end resting over each shoulder and continued on his way.

Buffy assured herself that it was a good thing that she didn't have to spurn his unwanted advances.

The rest of the week passed in similar fashion.

She would arrive at the beach, set her belongings in "her" spot and make note of the now-familiar multi-colored towel. She hardly noticed the boy as he left the ocean or the way the water sluiced from his toned form…

_Okay, _she admitted to herself_ I might have noticed a little._

By the following Sunday, she no longer made any attempt to hide her sketchbook.

~Spuffy~

Paper rustled nearby when a slight gust tossed her blonde hair into her eyes. Irritated, she tucked the errant locks behind her ears. To her left, she heard a muttered curse and a stay piece of paper smacked into her leg.

Curious, she picked up the paper and glanced down.

_I don't think you know my name  
And I think you'd leave me standin in the rain  
You're a pretty little girl got a thing for me  
But you'd cut me open and let me bleed_

_But I'll be looking at you with your long blonde hair_  
_Pretty little feet, sparkling everywhere_  
_you look so good when you look my way_  
_But I'd have to look down if you talk to me_

"Hey!" an irate voice called out to her.

She turned toward the voice and Mr. Blue-Eye's and Sculpted-Ab's strode toward her a scowl on his face and a flush on his cheeks.

Wordlessly, she handed the paper to the boy while he gave her a hard look, flush becoming more pronounced. A tiny thrill sizzled from her fingertips when their hands touched and her lips curved in response. His eyes narrowed at her smile and he looked down at the paper in his hands.

"It's not about you."

The smile slipped from her face (because for a moment, she totally thought it was) even as her pulse raced at the sound of his voice (British...she always had a thing for a British accent).

"I-I didn't think that it was." She said softly.

She desperately hoped he didn't see the tell-tale blush that showed her words to be a lie.

"It's just rubbish anyway." Defiantly, he closed his fist and the paper crumpled in his hand.

"I liked it." _Crap! Did she just say that out loud?_

The wind gusted once more and her hair danced across her face. When she lifted her hands to tuck the strands behind her eyes, a loose page from her sketch book sailed from her lap and landed a few feet away.

"Oh!"

Dismayed, she stood and the book fell from her lap on to the sand. The movement, combined with the wind, separated more pages from the bindings and, with a muttered oath, she chased the scattered pages as they skipped across the sand. After a few moments, she had collected them all and turned to walk back to her chair, only to stumble to a halt when she spied Blue Eyes' hands full of her sketches while he shamelessly perused the pages.

Of course the fates loved their cruel jokes at her expense; the pages he held each captured his image, the uppermost sketch was a drawing of his head as droplets of water streamed from his wet, curly hair.

She prayed for some sort of giant, gaping hole to swallow her up and save her from the embarrassment but no such event happened. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and she felt the sting of doubt…_was her work really that bad that it made him laugh?_

"It's not about you."

The words tumbled from her lips and her hands snatched the sketch from his hands before her brain caught up to her mouth. Instantly, her cheeks were stained with red, because _clearly_ he was the subject of her sketch.

She gathered the papers and stuffed them into her tote, along with her towel. She fumbled with the umbrella, her blush even more pronounced at her inability to make a dignified exit. The seconds dragged on, until _finally_ she slung the tote across her shoulders and picked up her chair and umbrella then stumbled to her car.

Later, back in the rented house, she carefully smoothed her crumbled pages and laid them on her drawing table in her bedroom. When she was done, to her horror she found that a few pages were missing and to her surprise, she found that somehow she had ended up with Mr Blue Eyes' poem.

Over the next few days, she argued with herself determined to avoid the beach at all costs and, alternately, determined to not be driven away from the first measure of peace she had found in a very long time. Within two days, she decided on a compromise- she would still go to the beach, but she would only arrive after she was certain he was gone.

By Wednesday, she picked her way across the sea of tanning bodies that lay on the beach. The sun, hung low on the horizon and she consoled herself with the challenge of capturing a _sunset_ as opposed to a sunrise. She was, however, reluctant to pull out her sketchbook with so many people around.

Each day, she lay on her towel and was forced to listen to the same group of girls discuss the local gossip over and over _and over._

~Spuffy~

"Harmony…is it true? Did you and Spike really have a make out session at Angel's house party on the last night of school?"

"Guilty." The other girl, Harmony she presumed, giggled.

"God, whatever you do, do _not_ let Cordy hear about it…she and Spike were hot and heavy all last year. You heard what happened to Anya in May, didn't you?" the girl's voice dropped into a salacious hush.

"Oh, please…Cordelia Chase does not scare me…"

"Do you think you will see him again? Are you both going out now?"

"Wellll" she drew the word out and giggled, "Let me say that I am keeping my options open this summer, but when the school year starts…" she let the implication hang in the air.

More giggles and Buffy rolled her eyes.

Quickly, she rummaged for her IPod but not before she got an earful about the local heartthrob's talented lips. She rolled on to her back and closed her eyes as she listed to her favorite mix of First Wave 80's music. When Yaz began to sing "Only You" a shadow fell across her body. With a hand, she shaded her eyes and stifled a groan at the sight of Riley, the self-proclaimed BMOC.

The next day, she stayed at the rental house. She tanned in the backyard and tried to tune out her sister's chatter about her new group of friends. (Seriously, Dawn had made friends with the neighborhood kids within two hours of arrival. Already, she had proclaimed Janice as her BFF and each had slept over at the other's house.

She held out for three more days. By the following Sunday, she was back sketching the sunrise.

~Greased Spuffy~

This year was his final chance and Spike was determined not to fail. With measured strokes, he cut through the water in a rhythm that was now ingrained into him. When he was in the water, his goals were clear and the mess he had made of his life seemed unimportant. If only, he thought wistfully to himself, he could keep that focus out of the water.

However, as he had learned earlier this week, it was too easy to fall back into the persona of Spike, local bad boy. All it took was one party before his vow to get his life back on track was broken.

_Sorry Mum_.

_Mum._ That was the crux of his dilemma.

After his mother had died when he was fifteen, he had been flown halfway across the world, from his childhood home in Surrey, England to Sunnydale, California. His uncle Rupert had been named as his guardian and since Rupert lived in California, William had to leave his world behind.

In a wild attempt to act out, he decided to re-invent himself as Spike: he had bleached his hair, started smoking, and drastically changed his wardrobe along with his accent - overnight he went from British upper-middle class to working class Cockney. All attempts made by his uncle to "reason" with him were given a deaf ear and his trademark two-fingered salute.

Quickly, developed a reputation as a fearless bad-boy and teen Cassanova; California girls, it seemed, were a sucker for a foreign accent and a hint of danger – a far cry from the mild mannered ponce called William that he had been in England.

And, he had discovered motorcycles. It definitely added to the bad-boy reputation.

The last few weeks of the school year had given him new perspective. During one of his "off-again" breaks with Cordelia, he had hooked up with Anya. It had only been once, but Anya's tearful admission that she was _late_ had shocked him into evaluating his life and his choices. A week later Anya had declared that it had only been a _false alarm, _but it had been enough.

The last day of school arrived and the gang went their separate ways for the summer: Harris worked two jobs so he could earn enough money to finally buy some transportation; Oz went to visit his father in New York and Andrew went to his mother's house in Alabama (this was always a source of amusement to Spike and his friends – Andrew always returned with a slight 'Bama accent that took weeks to fade and used words like "y'all" and "fixin' to").

He went to Angel's party, drank a little too much and spent the night in a lip-lock with Harmony. She had pulled him into a room and…well thank God he had come to his senses in time. He did not want another pregnancy scare.

After the close call he had with impending fatherhood at the ripe age of seventeen, and the realization that he had been about to make the same mistake again, Spike vowed to swear off girls and focus on College.

Despite his reputation as a ner-do-well, he had managed to maintain a straight "A" average…a difficult feat to accomplish between his late night partying and the hell-raising he and his friends did to blow off steam.

After, they had a rep to maintain. It wasn't easy, being cool.

He had little money to pay for College. His only chance would be a scholarship. He thought his grades were good enough, but Spike also wanted to try for an athletic scholarship. The school football team was crap, therefore he had discounted the idea of joining the jocks but Sunnydale High had a decent swim team that made it to the state championship last year…it was enough that one of the seniors had managed to get a swim scholarship to UCLA.

It was a longshot, but Spike wanted to try to achieve the same results.

He had been proud, the first week of summer, at his focus. It was all shot to hell, however, at the sight of a pair of shapely legs and shiny blonde hair that belonged in some kind of TV commercial. He hated the intrusion and despised himself for being so weak. _Had he learned nothing?!_

Yet, every morning, she sat in her chair cool as a cucumber with a "touch-me-not" exterior that his hands _itched _to explore. Every morning, he resolved to ignore his now ingrained habit of flirting with any female in a twenty mile radius.

Throughout his day, he found his thoughts on her at odd times.

Why was she there? One restless night, unable to sleep, he had begun to scribble words on paper, something he hadn't done since he had left England, since he had been called William.

He didn't know what possessed him to bring along his notebook when he went for a swim the next morning. When he left the water, there she was – as utterly perfect and untouchable as ever- and he cursed his weakness.

In his haste to leave (he hated that he felt like he was being chased off the beach like some nefarious lowlife criminal), his note book slipped from his grasp as a gust of wind caused a loose page to fly…right toward the object of his temptation.

With horror, he watched her pick up the paper and, instantly, he had a flashback to when he was fourteen. He had been in England and fancied himself in love with the most beautiful girl in his year – Cecily. Inspired, he had spent many an afternoon writing odes comparing her to everything from delicate birds to an angel. One of his poems had been found and read aloud during a study period much to Cecily's embarrassment and his chagrin.

_William, those poems you wrote, they are not about me are they?_

He still shuddered at the distaste on Cecily's face, where it was all too clear that she did not welcome the attention.

When he saw the smile on the beautiful blonde' face, it reminded him of the snide remarks and snickers, a humiliation that he had worked so hard to suppress. His stomach rolled as he imagined the laughter about to burst from her perfect pouty lips (oh thank God he had left _that_ poem at home!)

His inner William wanted to flee in mortification, but unwillingly, his treacherous feet carried him to her.

For the first time since he arrived in Sunnydale, it was William who spoke. All traces of the careful image he had cultivated and named Spike had faded.

"It's not about you."

God, he was sure she would see right through his lie. Just as he had when he was fourteen and been confronted by Cecily, he felt the heat of a blush on his face.

Too late, he realized that her smile had been one of delight, not scorn. Abruptly, her smile fell from her face and he felt as if he had just caused the sun to disappear.

"I-I didn't think it was." A blush spread across her face and his pulse raced.

"It's just rubbish anyways." Unwillingly, he closed his fist and the paper crumpled as he practically _dared_ her to contradict him.

"I liked it." Her words were soft and he wondered if he imagined them.

_She liked it?_

Another gust of wind and she raised her hands to her hair. Instantly, the pages of her book fluttered and one page sailed away. Startled, she stood, dropped her book and soon there was paper everywhere. She traipsed across the sand and collected them.

A few loose pages landed near him, so he bent down to pick them up. He had collected quite a handful when he glanced down and was surprised to see his image drawn onto the paper.

Stunned, he could only stare.

She hadn't just drawn him, she had drawn _William_. The first day of summer vacation, in attempt to prove to himself that he was "serious" about a brand new Spike, he had died his bleached hair back to his natural brown hair color. His hair wasn't gelled and slicked back like Spike's, rather, it lay on his head in the relaxed curls that he tried so hard to tame. She had never seen him wearing Spike's trademark leather jacket and black denim jeans. Stripped of all of Spike's armor – the clothes, hair and cigarettes…hell even the motorcycle - she had seen only what lay beneath.

She had seen William.

He didn't know he had smiled until the paper was snatched from his hand.

"It's not about you." She hissed. Belatedly, she realized which sketch he had held in his hands and her cheeks reddened in heat. Angrily, she stuffed her tote back, gathered her belongings and stalked away.

Too late, Spike (_William)_ found his tongue.

"I liked it." He said to the empty beach.

He heard the flutter of paper nearby and saw three pieces trapped beside a beached log. Carefully, he separated the pieces from under the log and hoped he would not tear them. He walked over to his towel and sat down as he tried to make sense of his thoughts.

_She liked his poetry…_

He looked at the papers in his hands…one had a sketch of a sunset with someone (_him?) _as a figure in the forefront swam one arm raised from the water in mid- front crawl, face turned out from the water to take a breath. The next was a picture of a seagull perched on a beached log, one beady eye staring back and a large,beetle pinched between its beaks.

The last sketch was reminiscent of a "power-shot" – like those frozen image's that a television show might use at the end of an intro.

This image was of him (_William)_, where he stood in the water, and single drops of ocean water frozen in time which hung in mid-drip all over and around him. She had drawn him with such detail – this shocked him, because he had never noticed her look at him even once until this day.

At the bottom of each sketch, there was a tiny signature and a date.

Her name was Buffy.

Thoughtfully, he packed up his belongings and walked home. Back in his room, he carefully tacked the drawings on his wall. Then he sat on his bed, inched backwards, until his back leaned against the head board.

The next morning, he went for a swim. His pulse raced as he anticipated her arrival. He doubled his usual swim practice, but no matter how long he waited, she did not show.

_It's for the best_ he assured himself.

The days crawled by and he had to remind himself that he didn't need any dangerous distractions in the form of one teenaged goddess named Buffy. Each morning, he swallowed his disappointment when he emerged from the water to an empty beach.

By Sunday, he admitted to himself that he wished he could have a do over. Each time his head turned toward the beach to inhale oxygen, he stole a peak and hoped he would see her.

He swam the length of the small bay twice and was so surprised when he saw her in her chair that he swallowed some of the salty water. Abruptly, he stopped and treaded water as he tried to gather the courage to face her.

Finally, he hoped he wouldn't make too big of a fool of himself and swam toward the shore. In the few minutes it took to reach her, he considered and rejected a thousand different lines. In the end, he decided to go with honesty.

~Greased Spuffy~

_Oh God…he is walking over to me!_ Her pulse raced, stomach jittered and she tried to take a slow, steady breath to calm her nerves. _I haven't felt this way about a boy since…_

"Hello." A shadow fell across her as he stood in front of the sun and _oh God, how she wanted to sketch him like that!_

She really should give him the cold shoulder…instead, though, she responded with a witty rejoinder.

"H-Hi." _God, she really just squeaked that, didn't she?_

Self-consciously, she smiled and forgot to breathe when he flashed a shy grin.

"I apologize for my rude behavior the other day. My poems are rather personal and no one has ever read them before." His incredible blue (_no, not just blue_ her artists mind corrected _cerulean blue)_ eyes dropped to the ground and the tips of his ears turned pink. "I reacted poorly."

His apology, combined with the smooth tones of his British accent, instantly turned her into a swirly puddle of goo. All of her new rules flew out of the window.

"Um..yeah. Same here." Was her witty reply. _God, so lame!_ "Apology accepted." She finished and looked down at the very interesting sand beneath her toes.

"Um…same here." They looked at each sideways, each with a smile on their face and then looked away.

He gave a slight cough, then faced her and extended one hand formally.

"My name is S…William."

"Buffy." His palm was cool, from his ocean swim she presumed. At the contact, their eyes met again. Slowly, his shy smile became a full out grin and she blushed when she realized she still held his hand but she didn't let go. Her smile widened when he didn't pull away.

The moment stretched on, eye contact not broken. Not another words was spoken, but he asked a silent question with the raise of a (_slightly scarred…have to remember that _she noted to herself) eyebrow, which she challenged with a lift of her own.

She pretended that it was normal to not let go after a hand shake.

"Well, since I seem to be anchored here by something…" his good-natured chuckle gave her goose-bumps and he dropped to the sand in front of her. "I might as well get comfortable."

At any time, he could have pulled away and she was glad when he did not.

"Do you live in the area? Other than the last few weeks, I don't think we have ever met."

"I am just here with my family. We are only staying for the summer then we will go home."

"Home is…"

"Hemry, Texas."

"Ah. Texas." It was sinful how he made her home state sound exotic as the word rolled from his tongue. "So far away."

She laughed, amused.

"Not as far as England. Where in England are you from? When will you be going home?" She prayed it would be _at least_ a few weeks before he would have to leave.

"Umm…Surrey." She nodded as if she had the faintest clue about English geography but made a mental note to google the place when she got home "Er…I leave August 20th."

If her muddled brain were up to the challenge, she would attempt to calculate the number of days that remained, but, at that moment, she doubted that she could calculate the sum of one plus one.

The sun continued to rise and gradually, the beach filled with people while they talked, getting to know each other.

William suggested another, lesser used spot down the beach. When she agreed to move, he gallantly helped her to collect her belongings, grabbed his towel and they made the trek along the shore.

When the sunset, they splashed playfully in the water in a game of tag with ludicrous made up rules and laughter that turned serious when his arm curled around her waist and he spun her toward him. She tilted her head and his lowered until their foreheads touched. Then, ever so slowly, his lips touched hers.

It was the start of the most romantic summer in her life.

~Greased Spuffy~

It was the end of the most perfect summer of his life, if he excluded the moments of guilt. He reasoned that he had never lied to her, not exactly; he had just failed to clarify that he would only be in England for ten days to attend his cousin's wedding and would return to Sunnydale on the last day of summer break.

When school started, William would be long gone and Spike would return.

The subject of his return to England and her return to Texas had not come up for the rest of the summer but was not forgotten. Long hours were spent uninterrupted in the sheltered cove he had taken her to that day. He knew the beach was a popular hang out and did not want to chance bumping into any one he knew (female or otherwise) while he was with Buffy.

She knew him only as William, teen poet and swimmer, on a visit from jolly old England. How could he explain Spike? Spike was crass, didn't give a damn and cared only about his rep. Spike would have kicked up his PG summer romance into the "For Mature Audiences Only" category the first day he had laid eyes on Buffy.

It was better that he had met her as William. The shy beauty before him would have never given Spike the time of day and he would have never fallen in love.

He dreaded their imminent separation. At home, his bags were already packed and he was on the first flight out of LA the next morning. Buffy, he had learned, was leaving town the next day as well, to head back to Texas. All too quickly, the hours they spent on their last day at the beach together flew by. Buffy felt the same urgency he did and her fingers laced his with a grip that seemed too strong to have come from such a petit frame.

They lay on the beach and faced the other as the tide lapped at the tips of their toes when the sun finally sank below the horizon. With a fingertip, he traced her hairline and cupped her face in his palms. He had notebooks in his room filled with verse that described every feature he loved about this girl : the twelve of shades of green had seen in her eyes as her mood changed; the bronze tone of skin, the hundred different shades between gold and sunshine in her hair.

One of her hands rested on his chest, trapped between their bodies, the other lightly touched his hip and he groaned when she wriggled closer to him. Despite the darkened sky, the heat of the day remained in the air around them and her sun-kissed skin was warm to the touch as his fingers skimmed up her arms and shoulders before they tangled in her tresses, along with sand and salt water.

He whispered her name reverently in between kisses, and she responded in kind. Their kisses deepened and his desire was amped up ten notches when she rolled him on top of her body. He groaned and she whimpered. Blood rushed south of the border and he struggled to pull back.

"Buffy" her name was muffled by their kiss. He pulled his head up and her fingers laced behind his neck and pulled him back down. "Luv."

"Mmm-hmmm" she agreed.

He tried to keep a tight leash on his desire, but his control slipped quickly from him. He had tried the whole summer to never let their make out sessions get out of control, no matter how tempted he was to push the boundaries. Each time she had called a halt, he had respected her limits and had, in fact, come to rely on them.

"Luv," he panted as he struggled to keep his sanity "we should stop."

Again, he pulled his head up and his eyes rolled when her lips trailed down his neck. _Bloody Hell!_ He thought when she sucked and nipped lightly on the skin beneath his left ear.

"I don't want to." She whispered thickly, into his ear and every nerve on his body tingled as goose bumps rippled across his skin.

He prayed for the strength to resist the siren beneath him. Lightly, he gripped her shoulders and pushed her backward into the sand.

"We need to stop." In his frustration, his words were harsh. Pain and hurt flashed across her face.

"I see." She said, curtly.

"Oh I don't think you do." He dropped his forehead until it rested against hers.

"You don't want-"she stopped at his chuckle of disbelief then gasped when he thrust his groin toward her, his desire more than evident.

"Oh, believe me, Luv, I want." He closed his eyes and finally confessed. "I don't …I don't have anything."

Instantly, she understood.

"Oh." He wished it wasn't so dark, so he could see her face.

"Yeah." He pulled back and smoothed the hair away from her face and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.

Quickly, he rocked back onto his knees and held a hand.

"Let's go for a walk."

A few hours later, they shared a final kiss goodbye. They had exchanged email addresses earlier. He planned to wait a few weeks and then "surprise" her with the news that he was moving to the states permanently. He hoped, by the time Spring Break arrived, that he would have enough money saved to fly to Texas and meet with her.

He promised himself that this was not the end, it was only the beginning.


End file.
